我們的試用期已過，大家慢慢開始，如鯉魚跳龍門般，紛紛想方設法調到更高級的部門工作，尤其是那些來自印度的移民同事。
已經有三位來自印度的同事，自告奮勇，主動去做技術支持，到新來的組裡，幫助新來員工，更早學會操作，最近培訓的業務。
除了這三位印度同事，另外還有三位印度同事，也都是能說會道的好手，無論是開會發言，還是平時的工作交流，嘰嘰呱呱，能說上一大通道理。而我卻是個悶葫蘆，平時大都沉默寡言，悶聲工作，默默無聞。
而且由於年齡的關係，對於這些複雜的清算程序的操作和相關政策的解讀和決策，我總是磨磨嘰嘰，畏畏縮縮，躊躇不前，稍稍遇到困難，便慌亂起來，去找這些印度同事求教。
久而久之，很容易依賴仰仗別人，失去信心和自尊心。
組裡跟我年齡相仿的兩個白人女性，也是同樣的倍感困惑。但是，其中一個是至少有兩三個印度同事，整天圍著她轉，處處為她著想，手把手教她。
另外一位，因為性格原因，獨自掙扎著前行，我會經常主動向她問好，時不時地給她打氣。
這幾天我看到這些印度同事紛紛，撲打翅膀，即將展翅高飛，我心裡也紛紛擾擾，也開始動心了。
其實講真話，也就快十年我就要退休了，我這次再次進去政府部門工作，本來就是想遠離職場的鬥爭，找個安逸的地方，安安心心地過小日子就行了。不想再折騰了。
再加上，我依然可以週末做我的移民業務，只是最近因為大選的因素，手中突然沒有了訂單做了。當然，我都是接收別的中介給我的，我一向依賴別人給單子做。總是一句話，我不是一個生意人。
剛剛恰巧最近一位印度同事，主動給我送上一個機遇。
在前兩次的例行週會上，她主動教我們組裡的員工瑜伽，這當然是她首先主動找經理商量好的。
在練習她所傳授的瑜伽功的過程中，恰好觸發我體內的氣。我非常驚訝，這印度瑜伽怎麼跟咱們中國的道家氣功，相互激蕩，彼此印證。
我主動和她攀談，她也對氣功好奇，提出讓我下次教大家氣功。我欣然應許，完全是出於對氣功的熱愛，竟然忘了，我平時在會議場合的尷尬和緊張，更不要說，我如何才能把這個原汁原味的氣功，端出來，能讓西方人一下子接受和感受呢？至少我不能炸自己的場子吧。
經歷很快就批準了，下週會專門給我騰出時間，讓我教大家氣功。
下面早有人好奇地問我了，你這個氣功跟瑜伽有什麼區別？你什麼時候教我們啊？
我只好沉住氣，自己給自己打氣，開始好好準備了。
我的心思又一步打起來小算盤，我也要像印度人學習，等時機成熟了，主動提出給整個部門的其他小組教氣功，我要將氣功做大做強，同時也為自己掙得一席之地，哈哈，我好高騖遠起來。
Our probation period has quietly passed, like mist dissolving at dawn. One by one, colleagues begin to stir, ambition blooming like spring buds, eager to leap—like carp scaling the Dragon Gate—into higher, more prestigious departments. Especially those colleagues from India; their wings are already catching the wind.
Three of them, bold and self-assured, have volunteered to assist in the technical support team, fluttering into the new arrivals' group like guiding fireflies, helping the fresh recruits grasp the intricacies of our latest training modules with grace and clarity.
Then, there are three more—silver-tongued and quick-witted. In meetings, their voices dance like birds in the morning sky, full of confidence and reason. In daily interactions, their words flow effortlessly, like water down a mountain stream—clear, persuasive, and unceasing.
And me? I'm more like a silent rock in that stream—still, quiet, unnoticed. I work in silence, rarely speaking, my thoughts locked behind the sealed lips of a clay jar. Perhaps it’s my age. These complex clearing procedures, tangled like vines in a forest, and the policies that wrap around them like morning fog—they make me hesitate. I tiptoe through my tasks, faltering at the first sign of difficulty, flustered and unsure. Too often, I find myself turning to my Indian colleagues, seeking light where I feel lost in shadow.
Over time, I’ve grown dependent on their guidance, and with each request for help, a small piece of confidence quietly drifts away, like petals in the wind.
Two other women in my team—around my age, both white—are also struggling. One of them, fortunately, has drawn the attention of a few helpful Indian colleagues who orbit around her like satellites, lifting her gently, showing her the way with patience and care. The other, more introverted, trudges forward alone, her path unlit. I often greet her with warmth, offering words of encouragement like candles in the dark.
Lately, I’ve watched these Indian colleagues beat their wings, ready to soar, and something in my chest has begun to stir—a restlessness, a soft whisper: what about you?
Truth be told, retirement is less than a decade away. When I re-entered the public sector, I wasn’t chasing titles or triumphs. I only wanted peace—a corner in the world where I could spend my days quietly, like a boat anchored in a tranquil bay. I wasn’t looking to fight battles anymore.
Besides, I still run my migration consultancy on weekends—though with the election looming, the orders have dried up like a riverbed in summer. I rely on referrals from other agents, as I’ve never had the mind—or stomach—for business. Simply put, I’m no entrepreneur.
Then, just days ago, a gift landed gently in my lap.
One of our Indian colleagues, with glowing generosity, offered me an opportunity. During our last two weekly meetings, she led us through yoga sessions—her idea, initiated with the manager in advance. As we followed her lead, bending and breathing in sync, something deep within me stirred. I felt my qi move—an ancient pulse, familiar yet long forgotten. To my amazement, her Indian yoga awakened the same energies I’d known through Chinese Daoist Qigong. Two rivers from distant lands, meeting in the same ocean.
Curious and inspired, I struck up a conversation with her. She, in turn, was intrigued by Qigong and asked if I could teach the team next time. I agreed without hesitation—my love for Qigong eclipsing the usual awkwardness and nerves I feel during meetings. Only later did it dawn on me: how would I present this subtle, sacred art in a way Westerners could truly feel? I mustn't let the moment fall flat.
The manager approved the idea immediately. Next week, a time slot has been carved out for me to share Qigong with the team.
Some have already begun asking, eyes bright with curiosity: How is Qigong different from yoga? When will you teach us?
So I steady my heart, breathe deeply, and begin preparing. I tell myself: this is your moment, don’t shy away.
A new idea gently blossoms in my mind. Maybe I could learn from the Indian colleagues—not just their boldness, but their ability to offer something meaningful, something cultural. One day, when the time is right, I too will step forward and offer Qigong to the other teams across the department. I will nurture it, grow it, help it bloom like a lotus rising from the mud.
Ah, how lofty my thoughts have become! But for once, I allow myself the dream.
